Don't Leave Me
by I Am Your Shadow
Summary: Sherlock, nearing hermit-hood, is being forced to spend time with John the orphan. Sherlock soon find himself growing fond of the small child, and cares for him like a father. When Sherlock finally realizes what he wants to in life, disaster falls and darkness takes over. That is, until a new light shines into Sherlock's life.
1. Chapter 1

A hand, with cold, thin fingers reached for the metal handle of the glass door, causing the door to swing open, and a blast of warm air thawing the iciness of his body.

A woman at the front desk, feeling the winter air, looked up. "Hello, sir. Do you have an appointment?"

_Excessive jewelry and makeup. Blind date tonight. Nail biter. Desk cluttered, but her clothes and shoes are extremely clean. Therefore, she's living with her parents. _

He got this much deductions from observing her before he was interrupted by another "Sir?"

He quickly muttered a name, and was ushered to the waiting room.

Taking his scarf off, he plonked himself down into a chair. But before he could gather his surroundings, a door opened on his left opened. An middle-aged man with the name tag "Doctor Smith" pointed the man in.

He took a seat in front of the Victorian wooden desk, and waited for the Doctor to sit and start talking.

"Hello Sherlock."

Sherlock Holmes nodded in return.

_Worry lines on his forehead, a deep sigh. Must be having a moody day. His worst fear is my weekly appointment. _

"You know, you could request for me to get transferred to another Doctor."

Doctor Smith heaved another sigh and smiled weakly.

_How silly of me to forget, Doctor Smith is the best therapist in Britain. Requesting a transfer would be losing face. _

"Let's get started for today, Sherlock. Have you done anything I've asked you to do?"

Sherlock turned his head to the ceiling. "Boring."

"I see."

Sherlock snapped his head back and faced Doctor Smith. This was not an expected response.

Doctor Smith didn't allow Sherlock to see his smirk as he flipped through various notes.

After an eternity, Doctor Smith knit his fingers together and placed them on the desk. "Sherlock, if you continue to isolate yourself, you will get serious depression. Now, your mother and your brother want you to detach yourself from these bad habits. And as you won't cooperate with any of us in the center, we have chosen Plan B."

Sherlock kept quiet. None of this interested him. He was probably going into a Friends Program.

He tuned the Doctor out while he examined the posters around the room.

_The Doctor needs to upgrade his posters. That information on the human brain has been out ruled in 2005. _

"Sherlock." A harsh voice broke through his thoughts.

"Yes, yes, do what you like. I'll wiggle out of it anyway."

Doctor Smith almost laughed out loud.

"You can't wiggle out of this, Sherlock. You're going to spend time with an orphan everyday. Your mother and your brother and some other social workers will be following you and the child every time."

Pupil's dilated, Sherlock shot forward, his hands gripping the edges of his desks until his knuckles were white. His nose just barely an inch from the Doctor's.

"Say. That. Again."

Amused, and slightly aroused, Doctor Smith patiently repeated his words.

Sherlock drew back and shook his head. "No. I'd kill the kid."

"Well, that is exactly what we're training you not to do."

Doctor Smith glanced at his watch. "That's it for today! Next week, the kid will be here. You're taking him to the aquarium."

With that, Doctor Smith, with a dramatic swishing of his doctor's robes, strutted out of the room, leaving Sherlock to wallow himself in frustration and anger.

How to wriggle out? How to sneak away?


	2. Chapter 2

"Ah Sherlock, good to see you here on time."

Sherlock gave no response; instead, he placed himself onto the seat in front of Doctor Smith's desk.

"Can you close the door, please?" Doctor Smith, exasperated, asked Sherlock while pulling a file out of a desk drawer.

A tall man, donning a black suit, appeared at the doorway, with an umbrella hanging from the crook of his arm. He was regal, graceful and confident. His stare was enough for anyone to bow down. He walked into the room, and closed the door. He flashed a smile to the Doctor sitting behind the desk. "No need."

Doctor Smith rose from his seat and extended a hand politely. "Good afternoon Mr Holmes. Good to see you. Coffee, perhaps? Or some tea?"

Mr Mycroft Holmes leaned slightly forward and shook Doctor Smith's hand. "Just dropping by, Doctor, so, no thank you."

Mycroft stood behind his younger brother. He pulled Sherlock up from the turned-up collar. "Doctor Smith, shouldn't we be going to see the orphan?"

Doctor Smith checked his silver Rolex, "Yes, yes, we should. The social workers said that they would bring him at 2."

The two older men stood up, both dragging the younger man behind them, and walked towards the lobby.

When they walked out, a young woman was holding hands with a young boy, about 4 years old. Mycroft pulled Sherlock's ear to his mouth and hissed: "Present yourself, brother. Don't make our family lose face."

Sherlock pulled away in disgust. How could his brother be so shallow? His eyes barely glances a second at the young social worker, but he looked long and hard and at the child. The eyes, they were brown eyes. Those were eyes that had seen an unspeakable event. They were eyes that were full of question marks. The kid intrigued Sherlock.

It was an eternity until Sherlock could tear his eyes away from, and when he did, he stood behind his doctor and his brother and try to look bored.

Doctor Smith stood beside Mycroft, and shook the social worker's hand.

"Doctor Smith, I'm Sherlock Holmes' doctor.

The social worker smiled and introduced herself as Debbie, and introduced the kid as John.

Debbie reached out politely at Mycroft's extended hand. "Mr Holmes, pleasure to meet you."

Mycroft smiled warmly at her, "And you, Miss Debbie."

Debbie turned to shake Sherlock's hand, but a quick turn of Sherlock's unsmiling face discouraged her.

Doctor Smith quickly cleared his throat, "Well, we should really move on to the formalities. Sherlock, you will be taking John to the aquarium. Technically, you are in full charge of John, but Debbie and I will be following you, just in case."

Sherlock continued to look bored, his hands burrowed into his trench coat pocket. Gently, Debbie handed John's hand to Sherlock. A flash of fear and confusion passed by Sherlock's eyes, but was quickly replaced again by the usual dull glow. He remained standing. Mycroft nudged his little brother. He hissed into Sherlock's ear: "Sherlock, brother, do this for Mummy. Believe it or not, she actually cares about you. This _will_ help you."

Sherlock snorted. He could tell that the trio wasn't going to give up on this plan. He swirled around and walked out into the cold air. He could hear the little kid trying to catch up with his big strides. He could also catch Doctor Smith following a few paces behind.

They were serious.

Sherlock smiled.

The game is on.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock quickened his pace, determined to escape the alert eyes and ears of Doctor Smith, the social worker (whatever her name was), and the kid.

John, he reminded himself, the kid's called John.

He was doing a good job on escaping, but was obstructed when he came to a street with a red light. He twiddled his fingers impatiently, and when the light turned green again, he put out his foot to take a great big stride when a small voice spoke behind him.

"Mister, you're supposed to hold my hand." Sherlock turned around and was met by wide, confused eyes.

Sherlock was confused. He ignored the kid. He started to take another stride, he was again interrupted by a tug on his trench coat.

Irritated, he whirled around and rounded on John. "What now?"

John shrank back, intimidated by the blue-green eyes of the larger man. _He must not have had anyone to teach him, poor man. _In a shaking voice, he carefully explained: "Well, Miss Debbie always told us to hold hands when we cross the street. There's always cars that want to crush you, you see. And Miss Debbie telled me you're going to take me to see fishies, Mister, and she told me to hold hands when I cross the street."

Sherlock nearly snorted upon hearing this nonsense. What went on in their funny little brains? He looked up and immediately saw Doctor Smith and the social worker watching him intently, just as a jaguar would watch it's prey.

"Oh, very well. Pull on my coat, and don't let go." Sherlock didn't even wait to see if a little hand had secured its grasp onto his trench coat, and immediately started to cross the road. He felt a tug on his back coat, but he didn't turn to check, he just kept walking, and walking, and walking.

He almost forgot about the child holding onto him, until his voice broke through his mind again. "Mister, the fishies is that way."

Sherlock growled, and turned to look at John. One hand was holding his trench coat, and the other pointing towards a large building labeled "AQUARIUM". Sherlock threw his head up towards the sky in exasperation. _How does this boy even know everything? I was planning to ditch him somewhere and run back home._

"Oh fine. Let's go to the aquarium." Sherlock turned again, leaving John to wobble unbalanced. As soon as they were walking again, John repeated Sherlock's last words.

"Ack-were-ee-um," John said, "What's an ackwere-eeum?" His curious eyes turned towards Sherlock's black curls.

Before Sherlock could stop himself, the words: "It's where the fishies live" tumbled out of his mouth. He slapped himself. How could the childish lingo catch up so quickly?

"Oh." The kid's eyes shined with new knowledge, "Miss Debbie says you learn somefing everyday. Is this the somefing I learned, Mister?"

John was getting on Sherlock's nerves. How in the world does he have so many questions to ask? But then his mind started to whirl. _You learn something everyday._ Was that true? Did he learn anything new since he left primary? The world, contrary to what everyone says, is not full of wonders. Sometimes, if you just run a few experiments there, take a blood sample or examine it closely, the answer is always right in front of your nose. Why do people take so bloody long to determine answers? Sherlock could finish 5 experiments in under 10 minutes, just because he had the confidence in himself that he would always be right.

Sherlock and John were waved into the aquarium, even when he didn't have any tickets. Must've been Mycroft, dropping a few names here and there, so they could let Sherlock and John in without much ado.

Once they were into the aquarium, and were touring the main hall, Sherlock felt the back of his coat hit his calves again. He whirled around. He grew accustomed to John hanging on the end of his coat, now that his coat was vacant again, he was surprised by the sudden weight.

Wait a tick. His coat's vacant? Ugh. John must've run off. Sherlock turned his head around and found John, with his nose platstered to the glass window, staring deep into a stingray's eyes. Sherlock stalked over to the child, and yanked him away from the glass.

"John, don't you ever, ever let go of my coat! You might get lost, you understand?"

But John didn't hear him; he was much to eager to ask the older man about the interesting fish he was just looking at. Sherlock's words went one ear in and the other ear out.

Sherlock, realizing it would be useless to educate John anymore on safety, finally told John what he was looking at was a stingray.

John repeated the word slowly, relishing the unfamiliarity on his tongue. A while later, he giggled. "That's the second new thing I learned today."

A smile tugged on Sherlock's mouth. He suddenly felt a change in himself. He put a hand over his heart and felt his pulse. His heart was still beating. But there was an ache somewhere. Was it fondness towards the small child? Even Sherlock couldn't deduct what was wrong.

Then he realized. He was moving! His feet moving involuntarily, and they were in sync with John. His eyes travelled down and rested onto his hand, and realized with a jolt, that John had quietly slipped his small hand into his own, and was pulling him along.

Sherlock quickly pulled back, and John turned his head to find the answer to the thin air he was grasping instead of Sherlock's warm hand.

"I can walk just fine." Sherlock stammered.

John walked up to Sherlock and slipped his warm hand into the bigger man's hand again, and said firmly, "You were just standing there, Mister, you weren't even following me."

Sherlock protested by trying to extract his hand from John's grasp, but to no avail. John suddenly broke into a run, pulling a helpless Sherlock behind him, until they finally reached the exhibition of the big whales. In his excitement, John dropped Sherlock's hand and pressed his nose against the glass, gaping in amazement.

Massaging his hand, Sherlock tried to keep a distance away from John. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied his Doctor leaning on a wall quite a distance away from him. At least Doctor Smith wasn't staring. Sherlock found a bench and sat, keeping an eye on the child. Funny how he could be so fascinated with the whale. It's just another bigass mammal that lived in water.

John ran over to Sherlock and pulled himself, with a bit of difficulty, onto the bench next to him. He slid closer to Sherlock and peered at him with big eyes.

"What's your name, Mister?"

"Sherlock."

"Oh." John rolled the name over his tongue, "That's a strange name."

"No, it's not!" Sherlock retorted.

"Yes it is. I've never heard of Shir-lock."

"Well, now you have."

There was a moment of silence, until John spoke again.

"My name's John."

Sherlock glanced over to the small child. "I know."

"How'd you know?"

He shrugged. "I just do."

John stared at the floor, thinking. Sherlock could just hear John's gears whistling at full speed.

"Shir-lock, how do grownups know people's names?"

Sherlock smiled, the corners of his eyes filled up with wrinkles. "Like this."

He extended a hand, and held it out to John. "Hello, my name is Sherlock. What's yours?"

John grinned, and smacked the hand. "John."

Sherlock let out a quiet laugh. "No, no. Here, hold out your hand."

John did, and while doing that, he mimicked Sherlock in a posh voice: "Hello, my name is John. Wot's yours?"

Sherlock shook John's hand, business like. "Sherlock."

John laughed, and Sherlock smiled.

"Wow. I've learned so many today." John mentally counted the new things he learned on his fingers.

"I can teach you more." Sherlock said, and he started talking at length about biology, the human body, the whale's anatomy and much more.

John couldn't understand any of it, but Sherlock sounded so smart, so he must be right. Therefore, John just nodded, as if he could understand every word that came out of Sherlock's mouth.

And together, they sat. On the bench in front of the whale, Sherlock talking and John nodding.

Neither noticed Debbie exiting the exhibition, leaving Doctor Smith to puzzle on the quick transformation on his patient.

**Author's Note:**

**Hello, hello, hello! This is my most successful story so far, with 11 followers just from 2 chapters! I love you all!**

**First of all, I'm sorry if I have overestimated the vocabulary of John, the 4 year old. I do not have a 4 year old available for me to test the IQ, so my apologies if it seems a little fake. **

**Second- ok. Maybe I have exaggerated the transformation of Sherlock a bit, but I really want to get a kick start on the Sherlock/John relationship here, and I think postponing it would be a bit boring. But if you think it's to fast, tell me and I'll edit it a bit. I haven't done any planning at all, so the story can be changed at any time. **

**Third- To those wondering, no, I do not update on a regular basis. I promise that an update won't take any longer than 2 weeks though. That, I can guarantee. **

**Have a lovely day! 3 **


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock sat inside Mycroft's black Rolls Royce, arms folded, and started straight ahead. His older brother sat beside him, gripping his umbrella in his right hand.

"So. How was the aquarium?" Mycroft smirked.

"Boring." Sherlock replied.

But in his mind, he typed out the word "boring", put a strike through it and typed out "interesting" next to it. He tried to add words next to it, but to none came into his mind.

Was the afternoon with John fun? Was it nice? Was it new?

_New. _Sherlock thought. _It was new. _

A few minutes later, the car pulled up into the Holme's manor. Sherlock opened his car door before the driver could reach him. He ignored the driver and made his way into the house.

Their mother sat in the living room, on the Victorian sofa with a book on her lap, and a cup of tea on the table. She lifted her head when she heard the door open.

"Ah, boys. Good that you're back. Mycroft, the mail just arrived, could you be ever so kind to sort them out? I seem to have misplaced my glasses."

Mycroft nodded, and walked to the dining room table.

"Mummy, your glasses are right here." Sherlock picked the glasses and handed them to his mother, only catching her playful eyes.

"I know, darling, I know." Andrea put her glasses next to her tea and took her son's hands into her own. "I just want to know about your first day in the new program. I know you don't like Mycroft listening to them."

Sherlock managed half a smile, and also surprisingly managed not to pull his hands away from his mother's warm caress.

Behind him, he could hear Mycroft talking on the phone with the bank. Andrea peered over his shoulder, looked back at her youngest son, and shrugged: "Well, that will keep him occupied."

Sherlock smiled.

"It was fine, Mummy. Really."

Andrea smiled. "If you say so, dear. If it's getting worse, tell me, and I'll pull you out. All right?"

"All right." Sherlock kissed his mother's cheek, and went upstairs.

He arrived at his room and sat down at his desk. He hung his head from the back of his chair and thought of John. Never before had he seen such innocence. Such bliss. So peaceful. So serene.

And with that Sherlock's head dropped onto the desk, and fell asleep.

Sherlock woke up to the harsh sound of knocking on the door.

"Dinner, Sherlock."

"Mycroft! Don't disturb me! I don't want it!"

No reply.

Sherlock stood up and pressed his ear to the door.

No breathing, no heartbeat, no quiet shuffling of feet.

Mycroft had went back downstairs.

Still frustrated, Sherlock pulled an old Chemistry textbook out of his bookshelf, and opened to a random page, and started studying. Realizing that the book was printed in 1998, Sherlock took a ballpoint pen out, and proceeded to note down all the mistakes that were changed throughout the years, or the mistakes that he corrected through his own experiments.

Hours passed, a knock from his mother asking if he wanted soup came and went. Sherlock finished reading the thick textbook, then moved onto writing a letter to the publishing company on the mistakes that he found. When the letter was finally finished, he slipped it into an envelope, sealed it, then walked downstairs to mail it.

Another day has passed.

**Author's Note:**

**Hello Hello!**

**This chapter is really boring, I know, but I thought that skipping straight to the next meeting with John would be too quick. **

**And I tried to find Sherlock's mother's name online, but there was no answer, so I just named her Andrea. If anyone knows the actual name, please let me know!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

"Sherlock!" John let go of Debbie's hand and ran over to the taller man, hugging his leg.

Sherlock felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He fought the urge to pry John's hands from his leg. He wasn't accustomed to physical contact. He could feel Mycroft's stare at his back. He wasn't informed of how close John and Sherlock had become.

Mycroft cleared his throat: "Well. Now that we're reunited. We should get going. Sherlock, you're taking John to the park. Feed some ducks."

Without any parting words, Sherlock managed to pry John's small hands from his leg and transferred it into his own hand, and walked out the door.

"Are we going to the park, Sherlock?" John asked.

"Yes. I've got an apple. Do you like apples?"

"Sometimes."

Sherlock smiled. The adult and the child crossed the street to the park. Sherlock scanned the landscape, and he frowned at all the happiness there. The sun was shining brightly, and Sherlock shielded his eyes with his free hand.

John managed to scavenge a place under the large Elm Tree, and they leaned on the brown bark. Sherlock took the apple out of his trench coat pocket and mopped it clean. He reached over and held the apple in front of John's face. John craned his neck and bit into the apple, crunching on it with his baby teeth.

Sherlock brought the apple back to his teeth, and took a big bite.

Together, they finished the apple under the shadows. John pointed to random people around the park, and Sherlock deduced their happy, normal lives.

After 8 people had their lives picked apart piece by piece, the duo fell silent again.

Just a few steps away; a young man finished his bottle of Sprite, and threw it over his shoulders. The aluminum can rolled over the sidewalk, and laid on the empty road. A car turned over the curb, and accelerated slowly, and reached the can with a resonating, ear-piercing crunch. A few children turned their heads to the sound. Sherlock ignored it as well, but he heard a small scream emit from his side, barely audible. He snapped his head to his side and found John, covering his ears with his hands, crying. Sherlock quickly knelt next to the child.

"John! John!" Sherlock reached out his hand, and touched John's trembling shoulder.

John's crying only intensified at Sherlock's touch. Sherlock didn't know what to do. People's heads turned as the child's whimpers became screams. Sherlock took John in an embrace, but was rewarded with a surprisingly strong push.

After John was free of any touch, he collapsed against the tree, his small body shaking with every sob.

Sherlock knelt next to John, careful to keep a distance from him: "John. What happened? John?"

John continued to sob in his hands.

"Mummy! Daddy! MUUUUUUUUMMMMMYYYYY!"

Parents around the tree started to close in. As they knitted together, shadows fell on John, making him sob even louder, hugging his knees closer to his chest.

Sherlock sprang in front of the spectators: "Everyone! Stop it! Leave! You're scaring him! I've got it under control!"

"You've got this under control my ass." A woman muttered from the string of people.

"Oi! Shut up!" Sherlock yelled back.

"A child like him needs comforting!" The woman retorted, and so a bobbing of various heads proceeded.

"I said SHUT UP! I can assure you that I have this fully under control. NOW LEAVE!"

The crowd, taken back by Sherlock's harsh words, muttering "All right, all right, no need to get rash" as they retreated.

Sherlock sighed. He needed to get rash and pushy. All kinds of possibilities flew into his mind, but he could pick this one out of millions. Another mystery. Fantastic.

Sherlock looked around for Doctor Smith, and found him sitting on a bench across the street, smoking a cigarette, and chatting on the phone, oblivious to everything happening with his patient.

_Good. He won't have to know anything._ Sherlock sat next to John, waiting until his sobs quieted down. When Sherlock felt it was safe to touch him again, he reached out and stroked John's arm gingerly. Fortunately, John's crying lessened gradually, until he was sucking his thumb. Sherlock's trench coat was drenched.

Sherlock didn't know any other methods of soothing crying children, so he only sat there, stroking John's arm continually.

Up, down, up, down, up, down.

John fell asleep.

Debbie examined John closely.

"Why are his eyes red and puffy?"

"Allergy reaction", Sherlock replied, "Some dust blew into his eyes. He had to cry it out."

Debbie bought the story.

As Debbie and John left for the orphanage again, John turned back and waved goodbye. Sherlock winked at him.

The moment Debbie's car turned around the corner, Sherlock ran onto the street, halting a taxi.

"Scotland Yard."

**Ahhhhh I finally have an exciting story in mind. Thank you to my slightly bisexual friend, fanfiction user drjd. Hope you enjoyed this chapter so far, please review and give feedback!**


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock passed through the security check, and rode the elevator to the archive.

The elevators opened. Sherlock walked past the reception desk, and stalked into the room labeled "Murder". Sherlock took out a key, one he swiped from Lestrade once, and inserted it into the lock.

Funny, how Sherlock helps the law, yet manages to escape it. Besides, since he was already such an avid member of the detective force, though much invisible, he felt that he deserved this key much more than Lestrade and Anderson did.

Sherlock opened the door, and calmly walked in. Shelves and shelves of files towered above him. Every shelf was categorized into years. Sherlock calculated in his head.

_4 years old. _

_3 years ago. _

He walked over to the 2010 shelf, and ran his hands over the beige folders. So many files. So many murders. Sherlock was never sentimental, but the hundreds of files sparked something inside his heart.

On the computer nearby, Sherlock entered a password, and he was in the system.

Search words. _Parents. _

Up came 200 results.

_Rifles_. 187.

_Orphan. _150.

_John. _3.

Sherlock chose one of the files listed, and went to the shelf to get it.

Scanning it, Sherlock was disappointed to find the file unhelpful. It listed the crime scene, evidence found and the two people that were murdered. A few photos, and no follow up. Sherlock memorized the details, and put the file back into the shelf.

Sherlock decided to pay the morgue a visit.

Molly Hooper stood in front of the fresh new body. Pulling off her gloves, she decided to go out for lunch. A few hours in the morgue can cause your happiness to take a sudden jump off the cliff.

Just as she stepped out the doors, she saw Sherlock walking over.

"Molly. Just the person I need. I need you to get some bodies out."

"More bodies? It's lunch."

"I just need you to get out the bodies. The rest, I can do by myself."

Molly sighed. She turned around and pulled another pair of gloves out from her pocket.

"Names?" She asked calmly, even though her heart was literally tearing through her skin.

"Sandra and Ted Watson."

"The unsolved mystery? Even Lestrade couldn't find a breakthrough."

Sherlock kept quiet as Molly located two bodies in the far side of the morgue. Like drawers, she pulled the containers out.

Being a professional consulting detective, Sherlock was used to nudity in victims. Still, he tried not to stare at the woman. Sandra. John's mother. He glanced over to Ted. His eyes were closed, but Sherlock was sure, he was so sure, that those eyes would be the exact color as John's. Blue, green, and grey all mixed together.

"The file, Sherlock." Molly handed a small file into his hand.

"Thank you."

Molly was going to suggest something, but she decided against it, and turned to leave.

Sherlock opened the file and studied it. It noted the victims' wounds, time of death, causes of death…

Causes of death. Always the most horrible thing to read in the file.

Except this file didn't say anything about the causes of death. It had a 2 page list of wounds. Everything was a possibility. Scratch marks, tire marks, internal bleeding, signs of strangling, drowning. He noticed that every worst treatment somebody could possibly give to any human was listed.

Except for rape. How excellent of the killer to keep his dignity.

He stopped reading. Now, Sherlock wasn't one to dream. But all the photos were just to terrifying.

Sherlock shut the file, pushed the bodies back, and headed over to see Lestrade.

Sherlock located Lestrade's office with ease, and sauntered in, with the file tucked into his arm.

Anderson and Lestrade were chatting, drinking Scotch, and other manly stuff.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but he commenced to his point.

"Pity to see Scotland Yard doing so poorly. No wonder the society's in a scare."

Anderson stood up, and struck a "threatening" pose to Sherlock. "Bullcrap."

"Then tell me why is this case still unsolved?"

Lestrade glanced at the file code: "Sherlock, that case happened 3 years ago. I remember, I followed the case. Why bring it up now?"

"Where's the crime scene?"

"Out in the countryside. Small house. We didn't have to clean up much. Killer left nothing but the bodies. No fingerprints, except for the victims. No blood, even though there were numerous bullets inside the victims. All the furniture was in order. All we could find, was the child. Huddled in the closet under the staircase, sleeping."

"What happened to the note?"

"Didn't it say in the file? The forensics team tried to examine it, but it caught up in flames the moment the acid touched it. They couldn't figure it out."

"So Anderson was on forensics that day…" Sherlock smiled amiably in Anderson's direction.

Sherlock went back to business. Before he could ask more, Lestrade struck up a question.

"Why do you ask?"

"And yet the board still offers you a promotion." Sherlock shook his head. "I need the address."

"Why."

It wasn't a question. Oh no. It was an order. An order for Sherlock to answer the word: WHY.

Sherlock turned around and walked out. He could find the house by himself. Countryside house you say? Piece of pie.

"Sherlock! The house has been abandoned for years! You can't go back!"

Sherlock smirked, and stuck his head into the doorframe.

"Thanks for the clue!"

Gleefully, Sherlock left the Scotland Yard building.

Beside him, eyes followed.

A phone call.

A cackle.

**Many thanks for reading!**

**Also I don't know how the security systems in the police department works, so I just made it up. If anyone wants to correct it, feel free to PM me or write it in the review!**

**Working on the next update already. I know this might sound a bit boastful, but I'M LOVING THIS STORY. **


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock hailed a taxi to the rural side of London. The cabbie wasn't willing to tour around, even when Sherlock offered his deducing skills to locate his missing watch. Disgruntled, Sherlock got off at a small town. The streets were empty, and he walked alone.

Lestrade didn't leave many clues, and the address on the files was blacked out because the case was closed, but he was sure he would find the house.

Small houses, that suggested the North-East area, where the buildings are more spread out.

Sherlock walked, and he noticed a middle-aged man, most probably a banker by his briefcase and suit. Sherlock glanced down at his attire. Damn, his next feat would've been better if he was carrying a briefcase. At least he was wearing a suit…

"Excuse me, sir, but do you happen to live here?"

The man replied rather crossly, but implied that he did indeed live in the small town.

"Do you know the murder back in 2010?"

"Yes, the one with the Watsons. There's no-one in the town that wouldn't know."

Sherlock held out a hand. "Barney Freeman, from the Morgan & Moseby law firm. I'm the lawyer following the case."

The man shook it. "Theo. Banker."

_Bingo._

"I need to know the address at which the Watsons lived. I have been informed that it's been abandoned."

"Oh yes, it has. But it seems that someone who just moved from Belgium is interested. Of course, none of the real estate agents want to tell them that a murder happened back then. They're showing house today."

"Where?"

Theo paused for a second.

"Can't remember."

And he took off, leaving Sherlock alone on the streets.

Sherlock smiled. How naïve of dear Theo to leave clues just lying around.

Sherlock scanned his surroundings. He was most probably in the North of town. No, not most probably. He was definitely in the North.

The Consulting Detective had watched Theo very, very carefully. Sherlock doubted that Theo forgot the address. Just wary.

Ugh, must've been the lack of the briefcase.

One of Theo's hand were slightly raised, the thumb pointing to the South, ready to assist this Barney Freeman on his quest, until his judgment got the better of him.

In his mind palace, Sherlock zoomed in on the thumb, and composed a compass. The thumb was pointing South, no doubt about that, but it was also pointing slightly to the right. Sherlock noticed a curb down the road, also turning to the right. Theo was a banker, and he would be very good at communications. So there would be very little mistakes in his words, and actions.

Sherlock started to walk.

The couple from Belgium walked down the street.

"Ich denke, wir sollten über den Preis zu verhandeln. Es ist schön, aber es ist ein bisschen klein für den Preis."

The other person nodded.

His phone rang.

"Mr Graf, this is the Callen Real Estate Agency. I'm calling to inform you that your house-showing has been cancelled due to an emergency meeting in the office. My apologies."

Mr Graf conveyed the message to the other Mr Graf. They patted each other's backs. They wanted the house so bad. Even though it smelled a bit too metal-like, they liked the layout. Perfect if they ever decided to adopt any children. The couple turned around and hailed a cab back home.

_Bang. Bang_.

The man on the roof spoke into the phone.

There was no bloodshed. Not yet.

A women stood in front of the house, holding a "Callen Real Estate Agency" file. She was on the phone, apparently trying to call somebody.

A man stood nearby, out of sight. He growled. Her presence ws going to mess things up. Oh well.

"I'm sorry I'm late." He ran up panting, speaking in a heavy German accent.

"I presume you must be Mr Graf, sir. I'm Jessica. I will be your agent today. Ms Archibald called in sick today."

"Yes, yes I heard."

"And Mrs Graf is…?"

"Mr Graf, actually. He's also sick. How unlucky."

Jessica raised an eyebrow, but made no comment. Instead, she commenced to going into the house.

"Now. The price remains. We have great deals on renovation or repaintings, if you're interested."

"Oh, I'm not." The man said in a Scottish accent.

Jessica whipped around. "Excuse me?"

She was pushed against the nearby wall, the man staring deeply into her eyes.

It was rather like a hot love scene in movies. Except for one thing.

There was a knife at her throat.

Jessica's taekwondo instincts kicked back in as she kneed him in the balls. The man didn't even bat an eye. Jessica found her knee throbbing with pain.

"Don't think that I don't know how weak my balls are, woman."

Jessica gritted her teeth. "Didn't I tell you? The name's Jessica." With all her strength, she punched him in the stomach.

The man doubled over, dropping the knife. Jessica sprinted for the door, but the man recovered fast, and he had her pushed against the door, with the knife tracing the smooth skin of her neck, and his hand firmly around her mouth.

Quietly, he whispered.

"Spunk. I like it."

Jessica's body started trembling.

He started laughing. An evil, evil laugh. The sound of Satan himself.

"Scared now, are we? You should be, darling _Jessica_. After, the previous 2 murders were mine after all. Pity the police didn't credit me."

With one swift move, he flicked knife across her throat. Her body fell to the ground.

Calmly, he took out a plastic bag, and laid it under the woman's throat.

Blood dripped from the fatal wound. Slowly at first, then it came in waterfalls. Big, fat dollops rolled down the white skin. And as blood accumulated on the plastic bag, they spread. Beautiful. Like lava.

Undisturbed by the gruesome sight in which he created, he stood around until the blood flow lessened.

Then, he cleaned up.

And he sat, waiting.

Waiting for Sherlock.

**HELLO!**

**I have received reviews on the bodies in the last chapter. I'm sorry if they are scientifically incorrect. I will alter them, as soon as I finish this story and do a re-write. **

**And the sentence in foreign language is in German. I used Google Translate, so it might be grammatically incorrect. **

**Hope you liked this chapter! Next update coming soon!**

**P.S Sorry about the gay couple. I just felt like it J**

**PPS. The Callens Real Estate Agency is fake. At least I hope it is. My friend, user djrd made it up. Ehehehehehheeee**


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock walked in front of a string of houses, and examined them with a careful eye.

5 houses stood in front of him, all painted with the shabby white color, with blue roof tiles. Sherlock was about to start inspecting each house, when he caught a whiff of cologne.

Sniffing, he started the scent like a dog. And he found himself standing at the front gate of the 2nd house of the 5. Opening the mailbox, he flipped through the mail. Coupons and brochures for the Watsons.

Yes, he had arrived.

Sherlock picked the lock with a bobby pin he found on the ground, and entered the premises silently. The cologne smell had disappeared, and was replaced by some strong scent of grape seed oil. He crept around the house, hiding stealthily in the shadows when he heard a sound. He also kept clear of any windows.

When Sherlock determined the house's size, and the emptiness of the exterior, he headed for the door.

He rested his hand on the doorknob, and noticed the key still in the lock. Sherlock smiled. The killer was losing his touch.

No longer caring about stealth, Sherlock strutted into the house.

And he was greeted by silence.

Sherlock crossed the living room, keeping his eyes on the floor for signs of footprints.

Big mistake.

Because when Sherlock looked up to check the ceiling, he actually let out a scream.

_An actual scream_.

Sherlock could feel his dignity draining away slowly, but he was frozen on the spot with terror.

Tied to the ceiling with various ribbons- those must be really strong ribbons- was a women, with a slit throat, and lifeless eyes that were scaring the crap out of Sherlock. A note was slipped between her arms.

Sherlock stood on the arm of the sofa, and retrieved the note. He knew what the note contained before he even read it.

He brought the note up to his face, and ripped it up.

"Great to see you too, Sherlock."

A man stepped out the shadows, smiling deviously.

Sherlock smiled back.

"Moriarty."

Moriarty smiled at the sound of his name. Smiling even wider, he slipped the knife into his hand.

"I killed that woman to give you a note. Didn't expect her to force a scream out of you, though. Always thought you were a gay."

Sherlock scowled.

"Why am I here, you ask? Let me put your mind at ease, Sherlock, I-"

"I know why you're here."

Moriarty feigned surprise. "You do?"

"Couldn't resist my face, no doubt. I know that you sent a sniper you assigned to shadow me."

Moriarty shrugged his shoulders.

"All right, ya got me."

Moriarty walked towards Sherlock, taking away the distance between them.

"You're losing your masculinity, Sherlock."

"And you're losing your touch, Moriarty, You left the key in the lock."

"Did I? How silly of me."

Moriarty straightened his tie. "Rumor has it that you're taking care of a kid nowadays."

Sherlock kept silent, not trusting himself to say anything.

Moriarty started turning the knife with his hands, stroking it as he went along. "Tell me, Sherlock. Does this child like presents?"

Sherlock continued standing, and remained silent until Moriarty's face was only a few centimeters from his.

"Wouldn't it be fun to have you hanging from the ceiling, with a ribbon around your neck? I'll have people bring in your little friend. And we'll see just how much he likes a gift."

Sherlock frowned, but his former karate instincts kicked in when he saw Moriarty reach into his pocket.

A frenzy of hands and feet flying around, the quick fight ended when Moriarty had Sherlock pinned to the ground, the knife slight penetrating Sherlock's skin over his heart, and a noose made out of ribbon was loosely tied around his neck.

Moriarty smiled down at the struggling body underneath him. Oh, the joy he got from other people's sufferings.

"Only the good die young, Sherlock, only the good die young." Moriarty started to apply pressure to the knife, watching it slowly sink into the skin.

Screaming silently in frustration, Sherlock tried to formulate a plan in his head. He brought his knee up, hitting Moriarty between the legs with such force, that Moriarty dropped his knife, and cradled his privates. Sherlock reached for the knife, and towered over the other man.

"You've seemed to forgot a crucial part of your uniform, Moriarty. Shame on you."

Sherlock bent down a little, and placed the knife over Moriarty's stomach. The most painful way to die by blade.

"We'll see how the police likes to receive gifts. I expect Lestrade to yell in delight."

Moriarty eyes Sherlock, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Well then. Let's see."

Sherlock's eyes were tinged with fear. He'd seen many dead people, but none had died under his own hand.

"Of course, we all know that Sherlock Holmes was never a giver." Moriarty's body trembled with laughter as he hoisted himself to his full height.

As if nothing life-threatening had happened, Moriarty straightened his suit and tie.

"Well, I would love to continue our conversation, darling, but I'm afraid I must take a rain-check. "

Infuriated, Sherlock brought the hilt of the knife down on Moriarty's retreating head. Moriarty collapsed on the floor. Sherlock untied the ribbon around his neck, and started to knot it around Moriarty's hands.

Above Sherlock, the ribbons started to loosen itself. Slowly unraveling, the body, Jessica's body, was slowly being rid of any bondage. Soon, it started to fall. Accelerating first, then reaching it's terminal velocity. Sherlock stood up, and the body hit his head hard.

Before Sherlock blacked out, he swore he saw Moriarty's unconscious face smiling at him.

**HIIII**

**Sorry this update took so long to write. Busy week and all. **

**Happy 1****st**** of November! Everyone had a good Halloween? I wore a beret and stuck a few paintbrushes behind my ear. I swear, I could've blended into the streets of Paris. :)**

**Hope you all liked this chapter so far! Please review! Reviews make me happy, and I'm sure you would all like a happy author. Unhappy authors kill people. **

**^.^**


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